


The Wait

by knee_knee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Prompt Fic, Skimmons AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knee_knee/pseuds/knee_knee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fic prompt #1 - ghosts. Slightly dark skimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wait

Skye can’t remember how she died or who she was before. All she knows is that she’s been stuck haunting a little street in Sheffield for what seems like aeons.

She’s not even English. That’s obvious whenever she talks and she talks an awful lot, though nobody has ever heard her. Every so often she’ll stand in the middle of the street and scream herself hoarse out of frustration and loneliness. Nobody even blinks, they just step around her like she’s a rubbish bin or a lamppost.

The isolation is maddening but she does find some solace in the tiny music shop on the corner. The narrow floors are stacked floor-to-ceiling with CDs and vinyl, album art covering every spare inch of wall space and a series of outdated speakers carrying sound across three floors. Skye’s favourite floor is the middle one. It’s always crowded with people and the music reverberates in such a small space. The beat sticks in her chest and she feels alive, if only for a moment.

Skye’s little slice of the world is a mile stretch on one side of the street leading into the city centre, it stops at the crossroads and though she’s tried to go further she can’t. Every single time she takes a step off the kerb she feels as though she’s being shoved backwards. Once she took a running leap and got almost halfway across before she felt like she was being sucked through a vacuum cleaner and spat back at the kerb. It doesn’t stop her trying.

It’s after one of these attempts that Skye slumps against the music shop’s wall and slides down until she is seated. She feels breathless, panting though there’s no real need for it. While she recovers she watches the pedestrians, absentmindedly running her fingers over the gravel floor and feeling nothing.

Normally the street is quiet at this time of morning. It’s too far from the city centre and the university campuses to get much traffic but, due to road works, re-routed traffic is causing a jam. Frustrated commuters are leaning out of car windows, spitting abuse at each other and beeping their horns. Skye finds it irritating. She’d slope off to get some peace but the bakery across the street has opened and she can smell the bread on the breeze.

There’s something else too. One other small pleasure that pulls Skye to this spot every morning. 

Simmons.

The young woman appears around the blind corner as if on cue and hurries past Skye to the zebra crossing. She’s later than usual, Skye had almost thought she’d missed her. Simmons looks anxious. Clearly she’s having a bad morning, Skye can see her trying to stuff handfuls of class notes back into her bag which has split at the seam. Skye isn’t surprised, she can see at least three textbooks peaking out of the tear.

Simmons manages to cram them in and sighs in relief. Skye watches the frown leave her face and Simmons’ usually sunny demeanour return. Skye has been watching her for months now and she feels certain that there isn’t a bad bone in Simmons’ body. Once, Skye had even seen her help an old lady cross the road.

Skye had tried to talk to her a few times. That’s how she’d spotted the name on the university ID card hanging around her neck. Simmons hadn’t heard her but being close enough to hear the girl humming cheerfully had cast a spell over Skye. She ached to talk to her and see that smile directed her way. Skye didn’t know what she had done while living to warrant such a cruel and unusual afterlife, but she’d take what she could get.

Simmons checks her watch, agitation seeping back into her face. She hefts her bag, flicking the hair out of her eyes as she steps off the kerb. She doesn’t see the car.

Skye doesn’t join the crowd forming around the accident. She doesn’t look at Simmons’ broken body or the mob that’s corned the angry driver who still hasn’t let go of his mobile phone.

She moves instead to stand next to the pale girl on the kerb who is still clutching at a bag she is no longer carrying.

“Simmons,” Skye says her name softly, placing a hand on her shoulder and choking back her own tears when she can feel wool under her fingers.

Simmons trembles and looks at Skye in confusion. There is realisation dawning in her eyes and Skye holds her when she finally breaks down.

Later, when the ambulance has been and gone, Skye and Simmons walk away. It is then that Skye notices they’re on the other side of the street.


End file.
